Drowning Deserts

Flickering lights accompanied the crowded hallways of Belleville Private High School. The mindless chatter and giggling of some girls to Frank’s right distracted him from his thoughts about the raven haired stranger in the hallway. He couldn’t be over 30, which led him to his next question: why was he here?
Could he be a teacher? He was certainly dressed for the part. Maybe a TA. The man definitely wasn’t a parent. He’d have to figure this out at some point. Frank didn’t know where to start.
After several minutes of pushing and shoving he arrived at his History class. The bitchy old lady teaching the class frowned at him and motioned toward an open seat. He slid into the chair, his mind wandering to the older man. It was probably immoral to think about him that way, but Frank decided he didn’t care. He still wanted to meet this man.
“Frank Iero,” He heard his name. Oh shit.
“Umm… here?” That was wrong, wasn’t it.
“Mr. Iero, I asked you a question.” This was practically his worst fear. Frank felt like dying. That wouldn’t be half as excruciating as this.
She sighed, and called on the kid in front of him. A wave of relief flooded through him and he pulled his earbuds out of his bag. Frank idly untangled them and studied a spot on the wall.
History ended quickly, or at least it felt quick. He hadn’t listened to a word the teacher said, but he didn’t need to. He knew one day he wouldn’t need this.
All Frank wanted was to form a band someday and get enough money to keep himself afloat while helping people, and he sure as fuck didn’t need history knowledge to play music. Frank just needed out of school.
The shrill ringing of the bell made Frank jump, and then clumsily sweep everything off of his desk and into his trashed bag. Next he had art, which was… Frank checked his map quickly- all the way across the campus to Building F. He picked up the pace and made a game of dodging people.
He felt the odds were on his side, as he was so short. If there was one thing Frank hated it was being short, and if there was one thing his friends loved, it was reminding him of this fact.
Ray and Bob felt like if they went a minute without calling him short they would implode. When they called him that, Frank wished they would implode.
After being run over only 3 times and tripping about 7 people, Frank was almost to art. He didn’t take the class because he particularly liked art or was any good at it, but he loved the atmosphere and the people who took art.
His teacher this year was a young, but very pregnant lady named Mrs. Birtch, who was very nice. Many of the students had seen her name and taken advantage of it, and after two periods of her new nickname she had almost broken down and cried. She was tough though. Frank was almost certain she could make it through the year.
The door was just barely propped open, and he could hear rustling movements and the sound of soft giggling and talking. That feminine voice was very familiar, and he could have sworn he’d heard it before.
Frank stuck his toe in between the door and tapped it open wide enough so he could slide through, and, keeping his head down, walked over to his seat next to Ray.
“Hey Shorty,” Ray prodded Frank’s arm, “Look new teacher.”
That was enough to pique his interest, and Frank curiously held his head up to see the teacher.
His smirking face met Frank’s and stunned into silence, Frank gulped.
The man- his teacher Frank had to remind himself turned on his heel, and grabbed a white board marker from a tray. Gracefully, he wrote his name on the board.
“My name is Mr. Way, and I will not be telling you my first name, so you can give up now. I’m replacing your old teacher, Mrs. Birtch.” He smiled and tried to hide a laugh with a cough. “Because of her… um unfortunate name, she has quit teaching. And of course art and music are closely linked, so feel free to have your earbuds in during this class, just make sure you can hear me when I speak. Got it?”
A general mumble of agreement filled the room, and Frank did all he could from nodding his head enthusiastically until it rolled off.
“Good. Also, because it is my first day here, we get to do icebreakers!” Mr. Way spoke with a child-like glee.
The class groaned, but they could do nothing to stop him, so they quickly stopped. Frank had never seen anyone switch moods that fast. Mr. Way had been very serious, then acted like a five year old, then easy-going, and then back to five year old.
“Everyone needs to tell me their name, what they want to be when they grow up, and a couple of things about themselves. I’ll get you started, it’s only fair you know about me as well. I’m Ge- Mr. Way,”
Frank noticed him fidget and pull at his collar after his fumble. Now he knows the beginning to his first name. J something. Maybe Jared? ”When I grow up I want to draw comic books. (A/N: It took all of my willpower not to say, “When I grow up, I want to be nothing at all) For now, I teach art, but I’m working on something called The Breakfast Monkey. I’m 39, if I didn’t do comics I would want to be in a band, and I have a little brother named Mikey, who is you guy’s age. Mikey can you come up?”
Frank watched as a brown haired kid he had never seen before stood up blushing, and walked forward. Pete’s eyes never left the kid, and Frank nudged him. “Ooh someone likes the teacher’s brother.”
Pete blushed and snarled back a comment about dating. Pete was known for sleeping around a bit, but he had been with someone once. After they ruined him, he made sure it wouldn’t happen again. He couldn’t stand being with anyone for over a day.
“Sorry Mikes, but it’s your turn.” Mikey twisted his foot and mumbled, “Well, I’m Mikey Way, and when I grow up I want to work with music. I like Anthrax and the Smashing Pumpkins, and um I’m new here?”
“Good enough, go sit down.” Mikey let out a breath and almost ran to his seat. Mr. Way’s finger rose and he pointed to a girl in the front row. “Your turn.”
Many minutes later, Ray was only halfway through his turn. Bob leaned across Frank and lightly punched Ray in the arm, finally shutting him up.
“Oy. Backpack swinger. It’s your turn” Backpacker swinger? That was original.
“I’m Frank Iero, when I grow up I want to be in band. I play guitar, and I like horror movies and music.”
Mr. Way nodded. “Music” He said simply, pointing to Bob.
*
Frank definitely wasn’t a good artist, and this really wasn’t his best work. Or really anything that could be considered art. Frank crinkled his nose and frowned. He added a few lines to the vampire and gave up.
“Mr. Iero. Care to show the class your drawing?” Mr. Way’s voice startled him.
“Well… no,” Frank began, but Mr. Way stopped him. “That wasn’t a question.”
He walked up to the front and reluctantly handed over his drawing. “You can sit down.”
Frank slinked to his chair and waited for his response.
“For a start, this is done with no soul or energy. It feels like no work went into this. The actual work isn’t terrible, but it could be better if you put even a trace of effort into this. Thanks for wasting my paper.” Mr. Way spoke clearly and without a hint of hesitation or sympathy.
Frank toyed with his lip ring, stood up and walked out of the classroom. Mr. Way followed him with his eyes the whole way out, not lifting a finger to stop him.

Notes

Okay I think I’m going to go into first person because that is how I usually write and I am better at in general. Also I am considering doing the next chapter in Gerard’s P.O.V.
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I feel like at some points when I write I get lost in stories and others I'm really awkward and choppy.